


A Baby Is (Not) Coming

by HarpiaHarpyja



Series: A Song of Trash and Fire [18]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Awkward Conversations, Ben Hates Family Dinners, Chewie is Too Old For This Shit, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Dinners, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Holidays, How to Ruin Thanksgiving, POV Ben Solo, POV Rey (Star Wars), Pregnancy, Rey is a Bottomless Pit, Romantic Fluff, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Unca Wanwo Is the Worst, Visiting With the Solos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 06:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarpiaHarpyja/pseuds/HarpiaHarpyja
Summary: A Thanksgiving Farce, In Which: Ben Has a Secret; Rey Does Not Have a Secret; a Holiday Dinner is Ruined; and the True Meaning of Thanksgiving Is Realized.(A companion ficlet to “A Song of Trash and Fire: Ben and Rey Make a Porno,” taking place in November 2019, one year after the original fic begins.)





	A Baby Is (Not) Coming

**Author's Note:**

> A ~special~ holiday ficlet, and a reason to gently torment Ben a few months after he and Rey get engaged,
> 
> Content warning for mentions of pregnancy. No one is actually pregnant, but it comes up in discussion a few times.

They had been to Han and Leia’s new place a handful of times since the move over the summer, so Rey didn’t really understand why Ben insisted on complaining so much about today’s visit. Yes, he had previously—for many, many years (for nearly as long as she had been friends with him, in fact)—balked at the suggestion of visiting his parents, of calling or texting them, or really of communicating with them at all. And despite the events of the last year, she was of the opinion that he still had a way to go on that front. He had been trying, though; and the onus wasn’t all on him to make it work.

She suspected the actual problem was the particular day it was. Ben was aggressively opposed to the very idea of Thanksgiving. Specifically, the part of Thanksgiving that seemed to dictate that one visit family, gather around a table groaning under the excessive weight of fragrant, food-laden platters, watch football, and enjoy each other’s company until everyone inevitably fell asleep on whatever surfaces were most readily available. So basically, all of it. But to Rey, whose memories of an American Thanksgiving were limited to a few with her expat grandparents, then years of depressing non-celebrations at Plutt’s, that all sounded wonderful. 

And she wasn’t about to let Ben ruin it for her. 

He’d been griping all morning about having to make the trip over to Malvern, as if it was actually a trek rather than a pleasant thirty-minute drive into the suburbs. Then he’d seemed insistent on finding things wrong with the food they’d been tasked with bringing (oh, and of course, he’d bitched about that too). Rey had made roasted root vegetables and bought a pie from her favorite market, and according to Ben they were respectively “too healthy” and “too big there are going to be too many desserts Rey oh my fucking God.” Once she’d allayed him of _those_ concerns, mostly by ignoring him long enough, he’d settled on his latest Thanksgiving Issue: what to wear.

They were going to be late if he spent much longer in his room deliberating . . . well, she actually wasn’t exactly sure what the problem was. It hadn’t taken her very long at all to figure out what to wear and get ready. This seemed like an occasion to try to look nice but not _too_ nice, because Rey knew full well she was not a tidy eater. So she hadn’t exactly set the bar very high. At this point, though, she wouldn’t care if he was still in sweats—they needed to go or they were going to be late. 

She did him the courtesy of knocking on his bedroom door, but denied him the courtesy of waiting to be granted entry before she barged in, barely resisting the urge to stamp her boots for effect.

“ _Ben_ , we told your parents we’d be getting to theirs at two, and it’s almost twenty of—what are you doing?”

He was bent over the bureau, two of the three drawers pulled open, and, to her relief, he was mostly dressed. Black jeans, black shoes, dark gray sweater, though in the case of that last he’d only put his head through it before apparently deciding he needed to go exploring in the bureau. Ordinarily she would have appreciated the view—there was something very particularly enjoyable about the way he looked in _just_ jeans—but they didn’t have time for this.

“Can’t find a belt,” he muttered, only half acknowledging her presence.

Rey sighed and approached, grabbed him by the waistband, and attempted to pull him away. “You don’t need a belt.” She reached up and began trying to tug his sweater down over his back. “Since when do you wear belts with jeans?”

He took a few steps from her and turned around as he finished pulling his shirt on. “Since I need an additional method to delay this dinner.”

She shook her head. “You’re being absurd. This is no different than any other time we’ve gone there.” 

“Yeah, all two of them. Which, you might recall, you tricked me into.”

“I did not.”

He’d turned to go check himself in the mirror and was smoothing his hair down when she came up behind him, wrapped her arms around his middle, and peered around his shoulder. She caught a glimpse of her hands and did a double take—it had been nearly three months since he asked her to marry him, but the sight of the ring on her finger still surprised her sometimes.

“You look good, Ben. This will be nice. Please can we go?”

In the brief silence, her stomach issued forth a desperate growl, and his glower melted into a laugh.

“Have you eaten today?” he asked, clasping his hands over hers to keep her in place a while longer.

“I had breakfast, but it was hours ago, and I wanted to save room for the dinner we were _supposed to be leaving for_ ten minutes ago.” She gave him a squeeze with her arms and nudged her forehead against his back. “Ben. Let's go. Before I waste away.”

He groaned and turned with great reluctance. “Can’t we just . . . have our own thing here? It’s our first year in the place. C’mon princess, I promise to feed you very, _very_ well.”

“Is that an innuendo?”

“No. Though it could be, if it’ll convince you.”

“I like that idea but . . .” Rey narrowed her eyes and loosened her grip on him. It was tempting on a surface level, and his point was strangely sentimental, but true. “Try to understand this. Please. I’ve never had a proper Thanksgiving. With a family.”

“Rey . . .”

“And now I have one, I have a family, and I want to know what it feels like to spend a holiday with them.” She slid her hand into his and tugged him closer. “Do you get that?”

Ben nodded, then wrapped an arm behind her waist and settled his chin on the top of her head. “Yes.”

“So please, I know it’s not pleasant for you, but can you just . . . _try_ to set that aside for one day? It’s never as bad as you think it’s going to be. Think of all the food.”

He snorted. “Ah, your real priorities come out at last.” His lips brushed her forehead and he swatted her on the butt, then pulled away. “Fine. I’ll stop complaining.”

“Thank you,” she said, following behind.

“Anyway, when I think of the fact that I spent _last_ Thanksgiving sleeping and brutally hungover, this does seem like an improvement.”

“I promise that tonight won't end with me begging you to make a porno with me, either.”

“Hmm. Hold that thought maybe.” He glanced at her over his shoulder as they made their way down the hall. She grinned back at him and narrowed her eyes. “By the way, were you _trying_ to match me today, or . . .?”

Rey looked down at her chosen outfit, a black shirt-dress with black tights and her nicer pair of boots. He wasn’t wrong; it was difficult not to notice that it coordinated with his own attire. “No, definitely not.”

“Well, you look great, so maybe I should change . . .”

“Nope!” She looped her arm through his and tugged hard, pulling him along behind her toward the front door. He was clearly only joking, but she wasn’t about to take any risks.

♦

Ben was happy to find that, on arrival, nearly everyone was too busy with preparations to really pay him and Rey much mind.

Leia spared a handful of seconds for hugs, her hands held awkwardly out to the sides to avoid coating either of her guests in what appeared to be a mixture of turkey grease and, possibly, mashed potato. Han was all his usual understated hellos, with a beer and an affectionate clap on the back ready for Ben and Rey each. Lando was . . . Lando: grandiose gesturing, declarations of how long it had been even though it had only been a few months, promises that gifts were forthcoming even though it was weeks before any gift-giving holidays truly commenced. Chewie barked once and sniffed their shoes and was done with it—he’d have more affection to spare when food entered the equation in an hour or so.

Still, within a half hour Rey disappeared into the kitchen to help Han and Leia—and, most likely, to be prodded for wedding information and updates on the auto shop. After that it didn’t take long for Ben to find himself cornered in the hallway. Sadly, Rey was not the person doing the cornering; even so, he felt fortunate that it was Lando who’d seen fit to subject him to small-talk, rather than either of his parents. The thought of being commandeered for stuffing duty made him wince. On the spectrum of things Ben preferred not to be doing today, having a couple beers with his uncle was closer to the acceptable end. Even so, he did _not_ like the trajectory the conversation seemed to be taking

He should have expected it. While Han and Leia had both seen Rey since he’d asked her to marry him (and been given ample time to look at the ring, ask them about plans, and dates, and locations, and a laundry list of other engagement-and-wedding-related questions Ben hadn’t even known people asked), this was the first Lando had seen either of them face to face. And, because it was Lando, Ben was willing to tolerate the too-hearty congratulations and the too-smiling inquiries. 

But he knew Lando, and he knew that look in his eye, and he knew to expect nothing good to come of it. Was it too much to hope that dinner might be ready . . . now?

“Gotta say, I was a little surprised,” Lando opined on the heels of a swig of whatever IPA he’d grabbed from the fridge. 

“Seriously?” Ben asked. If anyone had a right to be completely unsurprised by the fact that he and Rey were engaged, Lando was a top contender. “If I recall correctly you practically told me to marry her when we all went out to dinner in Portland.”

Lando chuckled and bowed his head, his expression one of affected sheepishness. “Not surprised that you asked her. God, that was obvious . . . ages ago.”

“Wow, haven’t heard that one.”

“Someone needs a few more beers,” he scolded. “You gonna be this delightful through dinner, too, starfighter?”

Ben smiled sourly. “I’m going to try.”

“Anyway, I mean I was surprised by the timing.” Lando waved away Ben’s petulance with an ease born of years of dealing with it in various degrees. “That was fast, eh?”

Ben shrugged and chugged the rest of his beer. “Not for us.”

“Oh, I dunno. Sure there isn’t another little starfighter on the way?”

And now Ben was glad he had swallowed, because if Lando had spoken a second sooner the remainder of Ben’s beer would have been splattered all over the wall. “A what?”

“I just mean, quick engagements, a lot of times that means . . .” Lando winked. _Winked_ , the fucker. “You get her pregnant or something?”

Ben just stared at him. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.” 

With anyone else, maybe the wink would have been a giveaway of less-than-sincere suggestion, but with Lando, who seemed to consider the wink—flirtatious, conspiratorial, lascivious, chivalrous, and many other subtle variations thereon—a part of everyday communication, it was impossible to say.

“Can’t tell if he’s joking about what?” Rey emerged from the kitchen and turned down the hall, making a beeline for Ben and Lando, a pie tin in one hand and a fork in the other. As she drew nearer, Ben could see she had already consumed a wedge’s worth and appeared to have no intentions of stopping.

“Isn’t that the pie we brought?” he asked, grateful just to have a reason to let Lando’s line of questioning drop altogether.

“Mm hm,” Rey confirmed. Her cheeks were puffed out with her latest large bite, and she nodded vigorously as she swallowed. When she elaborated, her voice was still thick. “Your mum said I could take some.”

“Some?” Lando echoed in amusement as he eyed the tin. By most estimates, ‘some’ meant a single slice, not a ‘march around with the pie tin ‘til you’re stuffed to the gills’ sort of situation. His mouth curled in an ominous, sly smirk, and Ben could swear Lando threw him a glance before he added, “Cravings for pie, Rey?”

“You might say that,” she said, waving the fork about. “Pie and maybe mashed turnips?”

“She hasn’t eaten much today,” Ben interrupted. Rey was _not helping_ with these answers, even if he knew full well she was a bottomless pit of bizarre food inklings nearly all the time. 

Rey helped herself to another bite. “I figure at this rate I’m probably going to wind up with a food baby to end all food babies, but that’s what the day is all about, yeah?”

Jesus Christ. Lando looked like he was barely suppressing a mighty guffaw. 

Ben wrapped an arm around Rey’s definitely-not-pregnant waist and tugged her along. “Funny. Oh, you know, I almost forgot—” Forgot what? “Uh. Come with me.”

He squired her into the spare bedroom, which, now that he thought about it, definitely didn’t help their case. But he couldn’t go into the kitchen or dining room with his parents flying back and forth, and Lando would just follow them to the living room. The bathroom would be weird, and cramped. 

Chewie regarded from his sprawl atop the bed as they entered, then returned to his dozing.

“Don’t really think now’s the time for anything sexy,” Rey said as Ben quietly shut the door behind them. “It’s not much longer until the food will be ready. They’re really just waiting on the stuffing at this point.” She had another forkful of pie, then waved the utensil at him scoldingly. “Speaking of which, where’ve you been this whole time? I’m sure they would’ve liked some he—”

“Lando thinks you’re pregnant,” Ben hissed, not in the mood to be chastised for behaving exactly they way both of them knew he would. 

She was infuriatingly unfazed. “So? I’m not. He’s probably just taking the piss out of you because he knows you’ll take it seriously.”

“But—” Ben pointed a finger at her. “You don’t know that. What if he gets that idea in my parents’ heads, and then—”

“And then what?” Rey shrugged. “Nine months pass, I’m not growing rounder, problem solved. Anyway, if I were, I’d make a cute pregnant lady, don’t you think?”

Ben stared at her, and at her midsection. “. . . are you?”

“No!” 

At least she seemed flustered now, if only out of exasperation—or possibly his implying she could look pregnant. She didn’t. Though she was also right; she would make a cute pregnant lady. One day. Maybe. But not now. 

“The odds would be astronomical, anyway,” she added, then sidestepped him and moved for the door. “Case closed. Lando’s being himself. Let’s go see if there’s anything we can do to help. Set the table, or something.”

Ben rolled his eyes but followed her. “It’s my mom. The table’s been set since last night, probably.”

♦

The table was indeed set when Ben and Rey emerged from the spare bedroom, so all they were tasked with was getting themselves seated around it as Han brought the turkey out and Leia brandished a very sharp knife. Ben swore she was giving him a _look_ as she did so, but when he looked again she was only cutting the turkey, immensely pleased with how it had turned out. This was at least a part of Thanksgiving he could get behind and would never fail to enjoy—eating, and eating, and eating some more, and then maybe taking a break before returning for another round. Even if that could just as well have been done in the apartment, not surrounded by his parents and a still smug and smirky Lando.

He knew things were bad when even Lando’s presence seemed more an annoyance than a boon. But with everyone clearly conspiring against him today, how could he be expected to feel any different? The worst part was, he couldn’t even feel justified in how much he begrudged being here, because Rey had been looking forward to it all week. This meant _a lot_ to her. Thanksgiving. With a family. His family. Which was, by all accounts, soon to be hers and effectively had been for years. So he couldn’t fume properly, because doing so immediately made him feel guilty for shitting all over the occasion.

Ben tried to focus on his food instead, and made slightly more of an effort than he might have to engage in conversation, and amused himself once or twice by sneaking a hand under the table and beneath Rey’s skirt to tickle her thigh when no one seemed to be paying them any mind

She responded the third time with a squeak of surprise, which immediately got Leia’s attention. “Yeah, watch out for the bones on those thighs, they tend to splinter,” she advised, drawing her own conclusions as to the cause for Rey’s outburst. “Stabbed myself in the roof of my mouth one year.”

Ben barely suppressed a snicker as some color rose to Rey’s cheeks and she fumbled the turkey thigh in question, and he gave hers a light pinch just for good measure. That earned him a retaliative heel to his calf, which didn’t feel great but was worth it.

“Oh, right, definitely a risk,” Rey agreed, regaining her composure, or whatever degree of composure she’d shown so far as she devoured her food like the chance of seconds was dependent on speed. She took a long sip of her wine and turned a deliberate, alarming look on Ben over the rim of her glass as she did so. That seemed like a cause for concern. The next moment her attention was back on Leia and Han. “You know, I was hoping to ask you both something.”

Han’s eyebrows rose as he swallowed a forkful of potatoes. “Oh yeah? If it’s about Leia’s gravy recipe, good luck. Over thirty years of marriage, she won’t even tell _me_.”

“Nope, not that,” Rey chirped. She was far too gleeful about whatever this was. Ben steeled himself and guzzled what remained in his own wine glass, because there was nothing else he _could_ do. “It’s actually a bit silly, but. See, we’ve been starting to think a lot about dates for the wedding, and invitations, and all that.” 

She made it sound awfully mundane now, but Ben knew for a fact that behind the scenes Rey had been needlessly stressing herself out already, wavering between acting as if everything that went into planning was no big deal, and having minor episodes of panic over how much there was to do in less than a year. In moments like the latter, he was still sorely tempted to try to convince her to just elope. No success there. Yet.

“Don’t forget,” Lando interrupted, shaking his fork at Rey and Ben. “When you’ve settled on a location, _tell me_. I’m covering it.” 

Rey laughed nervously. “Yeah. Er. Okay. Well. Anyway, that stuff, the invites and all, all involve full names. And what I wanted to ask was, Ben _insists_ that he doesn’t have a middle name. But I think he’s lying, and our high school yearbook was inconclusive, so I figured I would go right to the source and find out.”

Ben glowered. What the fuck? Was this her payback for him teasing her? After he’d come here and been on fairly good behavior? He grabbed the wine bottle and refilled his glass, swallowing his pride enough to send a pleading look Leia’s way. But the look in her eye told him all was lost.

Leia chuckled as she recollected something. “Ah, yes, I remember there being quite a lively debate when the time came to submit all that paperwork for diplomas and yearbooks and whatever else they try to get you to buy when you’re a senior. Actually, Rey, he does have a middle name. He’s just refused to acknowledge it since, oh . . .”

“Fourth grade?” Han supplied.

“Second,” Ben muttered, drinking far too fast. 

“ _In_ teresting.” Rey shot him a satisfied smirk. He must have looked as pissed as he felt, because her expression faltered; but then she chuckled. “Oh come on, it can’t be that bad. Surely not any worse than Mallory.”

Ben honestly could not see what was wrong with Rey’s middle name, but he was no longer feeling generous enough to divest her of the illusion that it was strange. It didn’t hold a candle to his.

“It’s a family name.” Han sounded a little world-weary as he said it. 

“Which is exactly why I don’t see what the problem is. Han and I didn’t hyphenate when we got married, and I kept my own last name, as you know,” Leia said, looking sternly around the table. “And so when I was pregnant with Ben, we decided”—the sound of Han clearing his throat interrupted, followed by a short guffaw from Lando, and Leia rolled her eyes before amending— “ _I_ decided it made the most sense that our son should carry both our names.”

Rey blinked and took a moment to piece it together. “Wait. Your middle name is _Organa_?” 

Whatever promises she may have made to herself not to laugh, and he hoped she had, she broke them instantly. 

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, clearing her throat and turning red as she realized she was laughing not just at him, but, indirectly, at his mother, which probably seemed a whole lot more dangerous. “It’s just— I— Never mind. You’re right. Not funny at all. Makes total sense. Very feminist. Rock on, Leia.”

But the damage was done, and now Han was laughing, and so was Lando, and even Leia looked amused, and while Ben knew that none of them were truly laughing at him—or maybe only a little—all it did was piss him off more. And here he’d been doing so well.

“Well,” Lando offered once he could breathe again. “When you two have kids, let me take this opportunity to throw in a bid for Lando Villein Solo to carry on the tradition—favorite family friend, mom’s last name, dad’s last name. Hey?” 

He winked again, and all Ben could think of was their talk in the hallway, which somehow made him even more annoyed. Why was everyone being such dicks? 

“I hope you won’t make us wait too long,” Leia added. She was joking. Ben knew that. She wasn’t the type to pressure for grandkids. She never had been—though admittedly that was probably because Ben had never given her any reason to think he had the personality to successfully attract someone to have them with. But then she looked at Han with the mischievous smirk of a parent who knows she is getting on her child’s last nerve. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Han? Next Thanksgiving, have a little highchair set up at the table?”

Han caught on, and his mouth curved into his trademark roguish grin. “Oh. Oh, yeah, definitely. Maybe even two highchairs. Twins run in your family, don’t they?”

“For _fuck’s_ sake!” Ben cried, slamming his empty wine glass down and fully feeling the effects of having practically chugged the entirety of it in under two minutes. The glass, not made to be handled so roughly, snapped at the stem, and the bowl of it toppled into the remains of Ben’s mashed potatoes. “Rey is _not pregnant_! Okay? We got engaged so fast because we’re— We— Because—” He growled in frustration, heedless of the wide-eyed looks that were now fixed on him. “Because! Just because! But she’s not pregnant, and maybe one day she will be, but she isn’t now! Okay? So— Fuck! Just. Drop it!”

He drew a deep breath, dizzy from his outburst and the wine that had no doubt contributed to it, and held it before he realized he’d just made a complete ass of himself. He had definitely ruined Rey’s first family Thanksgiving. Though, to hear the movies tell it, Thanksgiving and most large family-gathering holidays were actually all about dysfunction and people screaming and then passing out on the couch after eating too much. 

God, could they fast-forward to the passing out part now? He’d done his best to take care of the eating and screaming. Let no one say that Ben Organa Solo didn’t know the true meaning of Thanksgiving.

♦

Han’s snores made it nearly impossible to hear the movie, but that was fine. Ben fucking hated _A Christmas Story_. He had no issue with Christmas movies in general, despite not being overly familiar with the typical canon. But God, this movie. It was abominable. And for some reason, his parents had insisted on watching it after every Thanksgiving meal for as long as he could remember. He was beginning to wonder if they didn’t also sort of hate it and just considered it easy enough fodder to fall asleep to. Because everyone was certainly sleeping, except for him and Rey.

Lando was dozing in a recliner by the window, his half-empty glass of brandy miraculously secure in his hand. Leia was stretched out on the couch with an eye mask over her face and a blanket thrown carelessly over her legs; her head rested in Han’s lap. And Han was snoring, head tilted back on the couch cushions, feet resting on the coffee table, with its nearly empty box of chocolates and several dessert plates of pie crumbs. Chewie, after surveying the scene, had determined that there was no more food on offer for the time being and retreated to his post in the spare room.

Ben and Rey had commandeered the other recliner, and were more or less awake. He was trying really hard to make things up to her after his moment at the table. They’d all sort of pretended he hadn’t just started yelling about Rey and pregnancy and their engagement, and moved on to talk about Lando’s plans for a trip to Thailand, and how retirement was treating Han, and Rey’s classes next semester, and Ben’s lease for the bookstore. Harmless enough. But he knew Rey had been uncomfortable, even if she was acting normal. 

Now she was curled up with him in the chair, her legs thrown over his lap and her head resting between his shoulder and chest, and she was letting him wrap his arms around her, and she had snuggled about as close as possible, but he still felt massively shitty about what he’d done. This was how she would remember tonight: him raving about . . . complete nonsense, because she was right, Lando had only been joking, and instead Ben had let it snowball all night until something as stupid as his parents being, well, _his parents_ , set him off. She’d been really quiet since dinner. He didn’t think that boded well.

He was letting himself get caught up thinking about it all, but her fingers scratching lightly at his scalp brought him back to the moment. She tugged at the ends of his hair. 

“You okay?” she whispered, as if speaking might disturb anyone in the room—or be heard over the obnoxious dialogue of the movie.

Ben nodded and squeezed her. “Yeah.” No, not really. “I think I want to go outside for a few minutes and get some air. Everything in here smells like turkey.”

She snorted, the first time he’d heard her laugh normally since the middle of dinner. “Do you want to be alone outside, or would you prefer some company?”

“You should come.”

“Okay.” Rey seemed to sense he didn’t just need air. She rubbed her hand over his chest a few times, then patted him on the shoulder and slid off the chair. “Just going to throw some cocoa together to bring with. It’ll be good in the cold, and your mum has that really rich mix that I’m pretty sure is just shaved chocolate. Want some?”

“Sure.” He wasn’t actually convinced he had room for it right now, even if it was just a drink—he’d had way too much pecan pie and was pretty sure he was currently more sugar than human. Between that and his gnawing guilt, tonight was looking like a no-sleep night for sure. “I’m gonna go out ahead. Want to check if that fire pit actually looks usable. See you in a few.”

♦

They quietly made their exit through the dining room and out onto the back patio, zipping their coats up as they went. Rey knew that his parents had built a fire pit out in the yard shortly after they’d moved in, and while there had been talk earlier of getting it going after dinner, Ben seemed to have known too well to expect that plan would actually come to fruition. It was nice to see he’d at least taken that into his own hands tonight; maybe he’d feel a bit better if one thing went right for him.

“Looking good,” Rey observed with a small smile as she drew up to the scene. He’d made some headway, but it would go faster with her help. She set their mugs down on the brickwork and gathered some firewood. “Have they even used this yet? It looks brand new.”

Ben smiled tightly. “Doubt it. I think it was probably one of Han’s projects for the hell of it more than out of any actual desire on their part to have a place to set fires.”

“You on the other hand—firestarter.”

He gave a short laugh, but as they continued to work by the glow of the porchlights, she realized they weren’t talking much. But she was also getting the impression that Ben still had a lot to say, though she considered the fact that he was taking his time to say it a good thing. He always tended to phrase things better when he’d had time to think on them, which he didn’t often take. He was much more prone to put his foot in his mouth. Tonight, for instance . . . 

“I’m sorry,” he said, seemingly out of nowhere, as they crouched over the pit, lining wood neatly inside. He looked up at her, like he wasn’t sure she’d heard him. She inclined her head slightly to let him know she was listening as she continued to work. “About what I did over dinner. What I said. Raving like a . . . It was a complete overreaction. And it was everything I promised _not_ to do, because I knew this meant a lot to you, and I still fucked it up. So I’m sorry.”

She glanced at him with a faint smile as she rose to retrieve more kindling. “Thank you for apologizing.”

Ben frowned and watched her. “That’s it? You’re not . . . super pissed at me?”

“Super pissed? No.” Rey shrugged with her armful of wood, which he rose to help relieve her of. “I was . . . uh. Shocked, a bit. And annoyed. And sure, a little pissed in the moment.” She hadn’t seen him lose his temper like that in a long time. In fact, the last time had been when they’d fought the morning after filming their porno scene. She hated seeing him like that; but she also knew it was something he tried very hard to work on. “But everyone just moved along and, I don’t know. It was fine. Dinner was still so nice. And . . .” She straightened up and dusted her hands off on the front of her coat, then picked at a tiny splinter the wood had left in her palm. “You really don’t get it. I never had this.”

“I know that.”

“Yeah, but, I never had the good bits of it. Obviously. Or when I did, I hardly remember, I was so young . . .” she tried to explain. It was beginning to seem like the sort of thing Ben was just never going to completely comprehend. And that was okay. But she still thought he didn’t see what he’d been lucky to have. “But I never had any of the weird, squabbly bullshit either. Me and Finn and the other kids got on each other’s nerves all the time, but this was different. It was . . . comforting. The way everything was still okay after.”

She could see Ben working it out—how it was different, what could possibly be appealing about it. And if nothing else, she at least hoped he now understood that she didn’t consider the time spent here a loss, or a failure. Even the worst parts had been almost enjoyable. She hoped he hadn’t been torturing himself about this for the last two hours, thinking she was angry with him, that he’d wrecked her night . . . though she knew him well enough to suspect he probably had been.

“Okay.” He nodded and finished laying out the wood between the bricks, then stepped back as Rey did the honors with the lighting. “So, we’re cool?”

“Yes, we’re cool. All is forgiven.” 

As the fire crackled to life and began to grow, they sat down on the low lounge chair set up beside it with their mugs in hand, and Rey curled up next to him; the fire was nice, but Ben was warm too. And, now that he had apologized, she thought maybe she ought to reciprocate. She hadn’t exactly been on her best behavior tonight either.

“I know you didn’t like being here to begin with,” she said, nudging her legs against his. “But you were really trying. I could tell. I didn’t realize that us teasing would tip you over.”

He huffed. “It shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t help. So. Sorry about that. If I’d known, I’d have tried to redirect things.” 

“For what it’s worth, I was having an okay time,” Ben offered, shifting his arm so she could settle more comfortably against him. “It was probably one of the better Thanksgivings on record for me.”

She smiled. “Good.” 

“As for what Lando and my parents were all saying . . .”

“Hmm. Yeah, that. I guess that’s just family doing what family is supposed to do.” Rey cleared her throat. “We haven’t really talked about that much, have we? Kids, and stuff.”

“Should we?”

Rey took a sip of her cocoa, then nodded as she swallowed. “We should. Not tonight, if you don’t want to. But soon. Before we get too far into this . . . engagement thing.”

“Well, yeah, of course we should at some point. Or, now is fine.”

She was so relieved to hear him say that. It hadn’t exactly been at the fore of her mind, but now that it had come up tonight, several times . . . she was going to have a hard time just letting it lie. 

“So. Do you . . . want them?” she ventured. Good place to start, right?

“Uh.” He moved under her weight, and took a sip from his mug in a not remotely subtle bid to buy some time to think. So she was sort of surprised when he did speak and it was a perfectly straightforward, “Yes.”

She’d been expecting some hemming and hawing, and him expressing doubts about whether he’d make a good parent, because he didn’t get along with his parents, and that rift had been there so long, and had been such a slow and gradual build, didn’t that mean he’d fuck it all up too? But he didn’t say any of that, just that one word, and then he waited.

“So do I,” she said. 

“But we should wait,” he replied after a few moments. “Like. I want to have a family, with you. More than I thought I’d ever want to with anyone. Being with you makes me . . . feel like I could do that, and be happy. But I’d rather it not be right after we get married. You know.”

“I know what?”

“That . . .” He rested one of his booted feet on the edge of the fire pit bricks. “Okay, I know it’s not really any different from the way we’re living now. But, it’d be nice if we had time to just be married and enjoy that without having to factor babies into it.”

“Huh. Babies, plural?”

He shrugged. “If you wanted.”

“I might. Guess that’s something we don’t have to know right now. We can start with the one and see how that goes.” Her mind drifted to hypotheticals, vague images of a future that wasn’t just two of them, and she hid her smirk behind her mug as she took a long pull of cocoa. Maybe she could get Leia to let her take the tin of mix home with her. “Though yeah. Not for a while. I’ve got school, and the shop. Those need to stay my priorities for the next few years.”

“Right. And hopefully this bookstore thing will pan out.”

“And your writing!” 

He chuckled doubtfully. “Yeah, maybe that too.”

“You ever going to tell me what it’s about, or am I going to have to wait to read it with everyone else?” 

Rey had been pestering him for months about his novel, which _supposedly_ existed and which she was pretty sure he had been making huge progress on completing over the past few weeks in the name of NaNoWriMo (not that he would ever admit to doing something like that), and knew it was probably driving him insane. But she was pretty sure he also liked the fact that she cared so much and was just holding out to tease her. Eventually, one of them was going to give up, but Ben could be maddeningly stubborn.

So she had to wrangle the grin on her face when his response took her by complete surprise for the second time since they’d come out. “Now seems like a good time.”

“Really?” She stuffed her mittened hands deeper inside her pockets and nudged him. “This is just a way to keep from having to go back in, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” He kicked his feet up and glanced at the house, looking remarkably smug. “So you ready for a story or what?”

“Fine, I’m ready. Amaze me.”


End file.
